


quia peccavi nimis

by lackadaisical



Series: Hellfire [4]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:18:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackadaisical/pseuds/lackadaisical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I should be going back.”</p><p>“You can’t,” he said, reacting as he knew he would. He gripped her hand.</p><p>She brought his knuckles to her lips, kissing each one slowly, agonizingly.</p><p>“I don’t want to,” she returned in a whisper.</p><p>“Then stay,” he commanded but knew she wouldn’t listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	quia peccavi nimis

Both stood there, neither willing to break the perfectness held between them.

Kylo drank her in greedily, hungrily, his eyes roaming and never satisfied. The curve of her lips, the freckles on her shoulders, the warmth of her eyes prying into him and demanding to learn every secret of his soul. The light of the molten flows around them flickered off her skin, casting her in a puzzle of shadows, and the heat glistened on her skin. Her scent, so dry and crisp, was heady and empowering and intoxicating.

His eyes darted to the light saber hilt, secure in her belt. He felt the heat of her eyes scouring down his torso as she did the same.

“Have you come to kill me?” he asked, daring to step towards her. Compelled by their magnetism, she stepped forward, too.

Her reply was quick, curt, short: “No.”

“Have you come to take me prisoner?”

“No.” Her tone was hard, biting, stingingly seductive.

They took another step forward and she was close enough to reach, close enough to pull against him, close enough to kiss and taste and touch. But he was paralyzed by the softness in her eyes, an engulfing elation consuming her—so different from her clipped words—and driving away the specter of her who lurked in her shadows.

She wasn’t the woman underneath his helmet. She wasn’t the woman digging into his mind.

She was Light; yes, he saw it now.

The shadows may dance over her skin, her power of over him may be torment, her words may he biting, sexy, but she was the Light. It reflected in her eyes and seeped underneath his heavy black robes, burrowing into him.

“I’ve come to you.” She spoke into the heavy silence between them, her lips barely moving but managed to enchant him with the barest of movement.

And then his mouth was on hers.

And then he was pulling her against him.

And then her fingers were tangling in his hair.

She fit perfectly into him, her lips made for his; she was nutrition, sustenance and he only just realized he was ravenous.

#

Her body was burning against his cold muscles, as she kissed and whispered beneath him, and Kylo wanted desperately to know the extent of her heat. He wanted to know the softness of her breasts, the hard plans of her hips. He devoted attention to all her fingers and toes, kissing each reverently, but tasting her lips as the greatest sin of all; savoring the sweet taste of guilt, of desire, of forbidden longing coming undone.

He couldn’t remember when he tugged her soft white robes off; he couldn’t remember when she slid her hands under his rough black robes, coaxing them away and exposing his wintery skin. She explored every hard muscle, the diagonal ridges of his torso, the carefully cut curve of his lips.

They savored the taste, the touch of the other’s real, physical skin. They knew where to press kisses carefully, where to press kisses insatiably; they were old lovers, passionate lovers, lovers who understood each other completely.

When he entered her, when he took her, he expected her response: her gasping sighs, her quiet squeaks, her expectant moans. But, he adored them, finding each new and beautiful and _right._ He committed the feeling of her against him—her bliss, her wetness, her legs tight around his waist—into the core of himself, knowing these precious moments would be safe from prying.

She was perfect, crying out and glistening in sweat.

She was divine, fingers pulling against his hair and shadows pooling in the crevices of her body.

And—as his thrusts grew deeper, harder, quicker—for the first time since being reborn, Kylo Ren felt _whole._

#

Despite the heat of the lava flows, Rey shivered.

Kylo draped his discarded cloak over her, pulling her against his chest underneath. Her head pillowed on his chest, he watched the dried sweat from exertion drying on her forehead. He pressed a kiss into her hair.

Her hands traced his lean muscles, soothing and lulling, completely content, completely at peace.

He didn’t mean to speak, didn’t mean to break the perfect stillness, but then he was saying: “You came when I called.”

She nodded against his chest. “How could I not?”

Kylo didn’t have an answer and he was happy to let silence fall again. Time passed—hours, maybe, though Kylo nor Rey cared to count—and he knew she would leave him soon.

She did not stir from him when she said it: “I should be going back.”

“You can’t,” he said, reacting as he knew he would. He gripped her hand.

She brought his knuckles to her lips, kissing each one slowly, _agonizingly_.

“I don’t want to,” she returned in a whisper.

“Then stay,” he commanded but knew she wouldn’t listen.

Rey lifted her head from his chest and he wanted—more than anything—for her to lie back down. But she was looking at him, pinning him; he was drowning in her fierce eyes and didn’t want to be rescued.

She leaned forward, kissing him softly and it was almost as searing as their passionate, desperate kisses before.

“We will be together again,” she said. Kylo kissed her back, tasting the promise still sweet and fresh on her lips.

When she pulled away, beginning to rise to collect her clothes, he sat up, never relinquishing her hand. He kissed her palms, where he knew she was ticklish, and grinned at her giggles.

"When?” he finally asked, voice husky.

She stared down at him, robes bundled in her arms. “Tomorrow, the day after, every day until forever.”

“They will find out; they’ll know,” Kylo replied, shaking his head and, for the first time since he met her, trying to be realistic.

And, ‘they’—they the enemy—was the same to them. They: the Resistance. They: the First Order. They: _everyone._ Kylo and Rey—Kylo lingered on the thought of their names together—against everyone in the galaxy.

“Then we’ll be smarter.”

Kylo was silent. For one fleeting moment, he considered begging her to come with him, to go to the Supreme Leader and join the First Order. The thought repulsed him. She was the Light, she was his completion, and it would be stripped from her if he begged because he knew she’d accept.

 _He_ would accept if she begged him to leave with her.

Letting her hand slip from his, he kissed the back of her knee. She inhaled sharply, sensitive to the touch. He smiled. “Come to Coruscant in three weeks. Come meet me.”

After pulling her robes on, she bent to kiss him, to allow her fingers to tangle in his dark curls one last time—to know he was real and not just another dream—replying: “Yes; you don’t have to ask.”


End file.
